


A Very Hannibal Black Christmas

by HermaiaMoira



Series: Year's End [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Black Christmas, Except Will Graham, F/F, F/M, Hannibal crack, M/M, No One is Dead and Everyone is Happy, Rude People, Sweaty Will Graham, Tropes, fourth wall?, season one, slashers, what fourth wall?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:50:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaiaMoira/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In time for the holidays, a Hannibal crack parody of the classic slasher film Black Christmas. The Crawfords are holding a Christmas party and suddenly they begin receiving some very ominous phone calls from a man who calls himself... The Chesapeake Ripper!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Windegobunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windegobunny/gifts).



> This was my entry for the Hannibalize Christmas Contest hosted by Hannimation and Hugh Dancy Daily.

The wet snow settled along the gutters of Baltimore, coating yesterday’s gray speckled slush with a fresh layer of clean white. For now, at least, it was actually pretty.

A tramping foot came down from the curb and broke the misleading layer of snow into a deep puddle of frigid, slushy water.

“Augh…” an irritated voice groaned.

Brian Zeller shook his soaked shoe.

“Careful there,” Jack Crawford commented.

Zeller glanced up at him.

“Why do people always say, ‘be careful’ after someone has already run into something?”

Crawford chuckled as they crossed the street intersection. The lamp posts were decorated with garlands and festive bulbs for the holiday season.

“Don’t bring your typical winter grumps to my party tomorrow night.”

“A party, eh?” a nearby voice croaked.

Zeller jumped, looked around, and then jumped again when he saw the origin of the voice.

A wild-eyed older man in a thin, ratty Santa suit leered at them from behind a ridiculous cottony wig and false beard.

“Oh… heeey there buddy…” Zeller drawled.

“A Christmas party?” the bizarre man breathed in a raspy slur. “With all your friends? Well my my, doesn’t that sound like a good time.”

“That’s the idea,” Jack responded, pulling his chin back into his neck.

Santa blurted a low phlegmy chortle, “Heh… ehehehe…”

“’Kay…” Zeller replied, and started to walk away.

“Don’t party too hard,” Santa warned. “One night of revelry has brought many a pious soul to untimely end.”

Zeller gawked back at him as they left.

“Watch your step,” Santa sneered.

The agent dropped his jaw and turned to face him, walking backward. With a sploosh, he stumbled into another slushy puddle.

Santa’s sneer widened to reveal snaggled teeth.

“Careful there,” Crawford grinned.

Zeller sighed in exasperation and trudged alongside his colleague.

“Well, that was an ominous encounter,” he remarked.

“Yeah, it was,” Jack agreed. “Let’s never speak of it again.”

 

The snow fell until Baltimore looked like it had been wrapped up in thick blankets.

On the eve of Christmas Eve, the Crawfords welcomed their guests into their home. Alana Bloom, Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Hannibal Lecter, and Brian Zeller all mingled amiably together in the sitting room.

“What do you mean you’re not a ‘Christmassy type?’” Beverly asked Zeller.

“He’s never been,” Price shrugged. “He’s a Scrooge.”

“I’m not a Scrooge, I just don’t get overly excited about it. I think it’s all a bit much.”

“I love December,” Beverly stated. “A Jewish dad, a Christian mom, all the holidays, more presents for me.”

Zeller leaned over and murmured, “I guess you won’t be needing me to get you anything.”

“I didn’t say that,” she smirked.

Will Graham sat stiff on the couch, pushing his socially-awkward defense mechanism up his nose. He was clad in high-waisted khakis and a frumpy shirt, hunched over in his seat, and somehow he still managed to look like a tantalizing siren lounging on a rock in the middle of a misty sea, staring into sailor’s eyes with limpid pools and drawing them forth to their deaths with foolish smiles forever planted on their faces.

“I hope you don’t mind driving all the way here from Wolf Trap in this snow,” Bella told him.

“Oh it’s just a little over an hour,” Will explained. “In the snow it’s one hour and 18 minutes to Dr. Lecter’s…”

He trailed off.

“Uh-huh,” Bella nodded.

“Depending on the road conditions,” he muttered under his breath.

There came a hurried rapping at the door, and Jack practically bounced on his way to answer it.

“Joe!” Crawford exclaimed when he revealed the new guest. “Joe Don, how the hell you been?”

Joe stamped his feet and entered the house. He removed his jacket, revealing the ugliest red Christmas sweater to ever be stitched together and catered to the whimsically ironic. He carried with him a bottle of Scotch.

“Hey, look who just showed up!” Jack announced.

“Joe!” everyone called out in unison. Everyone who wasn’t Hannibal or Will, that is. They raised their eyebrows at each other questioningly.

“Ah I love this guy,” Zeller stated.

“Joe’s the best,” Beverly added.

Jack clapped the new guest on the back and led him forward.

“Will, Dr. Lecter, meet Joe Don. We used to serve on the force together back in the day.”

Jack gazed at Joe with affection.

“He was the best damn partner I ever had.”

“That’s interesting,” Will remarked. “I’ve never heard of a Joe Don before.”

Jack shook his head.

“Goddammit, Graham,” Zeller muttered.

Will fidgeted, as he was wont to do, and wondered why he was so awkward. Also sheepish, quirky, disheveled, and other flaws that some people happen to find endearing.

“You were counting on me not taking you up on your invitation, weren’t you ya sonnuvabitch?” Joe quipped, giving Jack a playful elbow.

“Ah, Joe,” Jack laughed. He turned to his newest guests and said, “He’s a character, this one.”

“Is he?” Hannibal replied with a smile. He shook the man’s hand.

“When you planning on finally retiring?” Jack asked his friend.

“I already put my request in,” he answered. “I have only one week left. Then, it’s off to sunny Florida for me!”

“Fantastic!” Jack laughed.

“I brought the Christmas spirit!” the new guest continued. He handed over the Scotch.

Will eyed it.

“I guess I should have known to count on you to provide the booze!” Jack bellowed.

Bella greeted him and he kissed her on the cheek.

“Keeping a close watch on you,” Jack teased. “I know you’re a shameless flirt.”

“That I am,” Joe replied, and he winked at Will.

Hannibal narrowed his eyes, then turned to Jack and said, “Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m ravenous.”

“Great!” Jack replied. “Let’s eat!”

They all assembled at the dinner table and took their seats. Price finished his glass of wine before the food was even brought to the table.

“Dr. Lecter has graciously brought us one of the entrees,” Bella announced.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jack said.

The guests dug in.

“This is delicious,” Alana told Hannibal. “What is it?”

“Lamb saltimbocca,” Hannibal answered. “The name means ‘to jump in the mouth.’ It’s appropriate, because this particular lamb was a long-jumper.”

The party laughed.

“What an odd thing to say,” Will mused, but no one else seemed to find it odd so he just rolled with it.

After dinner, the guests gathered in the living room to sing Christmas carols, drink hard apple cider, and exchange white elephant gifts. Will opened one and it contained a bottle of Old Spice aftershave.

He sighed. Hannibal sighed harder.

Price lifted his mug of cider.

“You all need to catch up,” he laughed.

“Yes,” Joe replied. “Let’s all get good and drunk.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at Will, who stared back at him.

Alana glanced out the window and remarked, “That snow is really coming down.”

“Yeah, looks like a blizzard,” Zeller responded.

“It would be a shame if we all had to spend the night here,” Joe added. He glanced at Will once more. “There aren’t enough beds in this house, we’d have to share.”

Hannibal felt hungry again and thought about the leftover saltimbocca in the fridge.

Beneath the sounds of laughter and chatting, a muffled song began to play.

It bore the unmistakable gravelly tone of Johnny Cash: _You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time. Sooner or later God'll cut you down, sooner or later God'll cut you down._

Jack apologized and shifted his weight as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Is this Agent Jack Crawford of the FBI?”

“Yes, this is him. Who is this?”

The creaky voice on the other end of the line chuckled.

“I’m an old friend. Don’t you recognize me?”

Jack signaled to his company and they quieted down.

“Not off-hand, no. Feel free to remind me.”

A pause and then the sound of a deep breath put Jack’s nerves on edge.

“This is the Chesapeake Ripper.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jack stood to his feet, and Bella looked up at him quizzically.

“You say you are the Chesapeake Ripper?” Jack said clearly enough for the party to hear him. Beverly stood as well and came closer to the phone pressed against the man’s ear. Hannibal raised a brow.

“How can I be sure that is true?”

The caller released an amused sigh.

“I see you’ve found yourself a new protégé. How quickly you replaced the last one. What was her name? Miriam Lass? She was calling out your name when I gutted her. She sounded like a child crying for her papa.”

Jack snapped his fingers and Beverly went to grab her tablet.

“Why are you calling me?” Jack asked. “Do you want to wish me a Merry Christmas?”

“Of course!” the caller responded, his voice like treacle. “Please enjoy the holiday. Oh, and put Will Graham on the phone.”

“Why do you want to speak to Will Graham?”

Will tensed.

“He’s next in line,” the caller answered. “You know it, I know it. Don’t you think he should be fairly warned?”

“I’ll see if he’s available.”

Jack muted his phone and called out, “All right, everyone, be quiet. Will, I’m going to put you on speaker. Beverly, I want you to record this.”

Beverly was already on it. She set her tablet to record and placed it next to the cell that Jack had put down on the coffee table in front of Will.

Will cleared his throat, unmuted the phone, and said, “This is special agent Graham.”

The heavy breathing on the line reached a crescendo in a whining gasp.

“So this is the pretty new pup that Crawford has taken into his kennel. Will he grow into a well-trained hound, or will he be nothing more than a fluffy lapdog?”

“’Kay…” Zeller whispered. Jack reestablished silence with an admonishing glare.

“You had something you needed to tell me?” Graham prodded.

“Yes,” the caller continued. “I wanted to tell you that I’m going to rut you, pup. I’m going to bend you over, grab you by your soft curls, and make you mewl and whine like a bitch in heat.”

Hannibal shook his head. Beverly’s jaw dropped and she looked back and forth between Price and Zeller to confirm that they totally heard this; you totally just heard this, didn’t you guys oh my god?

Will responded to the remarks as he usually did to any source of discomfort: with a copious amount of sweating and twitching.

“So get ready, pretty boy,” the caller added. “I’m coming for you. When I get you, you’re gonna love how I lick that pink little boy pussy of yours. Yeah…”

The voice on the line began to make a slurping sound followed by some plaintive moans. Then the call ended with a click.

“Boy pussy,” Beverly cringed. “Boy… pussy…”

Price took another sip of his drink and commented, “I had no idea the Ripper was such a romantic.”

Zeller chuckled at Will’s obvious discomfort.

“Absolutely vile,” Hannibal fumed under his breath. He turned and added, “Jack, I don’t think this call is legitimate. Clearly this isn’t the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Why do you think that, Doctor?”

“Because, the Ripper is… a _librettist_. Or, at least, he considers himself one. This man is…”

“A vulgar spin-off of Weird Al Yankovich,” Will muttered.

“Precisely,” Hannibal agreed.

“He could be toying with us,” Jack suggested. “I’m not ready to rule out the possibility.”

“Jack…” Alana cautiously advised, “You thought the string of muggings downtown might be the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Zeller laughed.

“Whatever, Zee,” Beverly teased. “We drove by some road kill on the way here and you thought it was the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Oh, come on!” Zeller retorted.

“Everyone shut up!” Jack bellowed. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and huffed in thought. “First off, this party appears to be over. Most of you can go on home, and Beverly and I can head to the office and see about tracing that call.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Price interjected. He had picked up the tablet and was checking the weather status online. “It looks like all the roads are closed, due to the blizzard.”

“We are staying the night, after all,” Joe said.

“Well, we have a spare bed and plenty of couches that we can make up for you,” Bella said. “Hopefully conditions will clear up by morning.”

Suddenly the lights in the house extinguished with a pop.

“What happened?”

“The blizzard,” Jack grumbled.

“Do you have any flashlights?”

“Who said that?” Jack yelled.

“I said: do you have any flashlights? I can’t see a damn thing.”

“None of us can see a damn thing; it’s dark as hell in here!”

Someone tripped over some furniture and bumped clumsily.

“Light a candle or something, we can’t just be standing around in the dark whispering to each other like a bunch of weirdoes!”

“Will, where are you?” Joe questioned.

“I’m right here,” Will answered. A moment later he felt someone press up against him.

“Good to know,” Joe crooned in his ear.

Will shivered.

A moment later came a brisk, striding sound followed by another thump.

“What the hell?” the officer declared. “Someone shoved me!”

“All right, who shoved Joe?”

_You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time._

“Where’s my phone?”

Jack shuffled around, feeling the coffee table.

_Sooner or later God'll cut you down, sooner or later God'll cut you down._

“It’s too… Goddamn… dark in here!” he roared.

In the blackness came a clattering and then a beam of light shot through. Bella held a flashlight and aimed it toward the table. Jack grabbed his phone and turned on the speaker.

“Crawford,” he spoke calmly.

“Quite the weather we are having, wouldn’t you say?” the voice on the other end cackled. “Me, I rather like a snowy Christmas. It’s a veritable winter wonderland.”

“I’d prefer not to have to shovel my drive,” Jack snarked.

“I’m sure a couple in your considerable career positions can afford to hire someone to do it for you. Now, put Will Graham on.”

Will stepped forward and said, “This is Graham.”

“Hello again, my fair future conquest. It looks like you are trapped in a dark, scary place. Who knows what will find you and violate every orifice in your body?”

Will began to sweat again. A lot, actually. It would be pretty gross for literally anyone else except the man who could make any bodily function seem obscenely erotic.

“I guess,” he mumbled.

The caller’s voice took on a harsh, eccentric hiss when he said, “It will happen eventually, you little slut! I’m going to cut you open and cum all over your insides!”

“Do you honestly expect us to believe you are the Chesapeake Ripper?” Hannibal interrupted.

“Hello,” the caller greeted. “You must be the consulting Dr. Lecter. So you say I am not a _librettist_ as you had hoped. The reality of who I am will become known to you, don’t doubt.”

The line clicked and the party murmured.

_Cling clang clong._

The ominous sound came from some unverifiable place. The guests looked around, unsettled.

“What was that noise?” Alana asked.

“It sounded like clashing metal,” Beverly added.

“Oh, that’s just the pipes,” Jack explained. “They sometimes do that in the winter.”

“He heard what Dr. Lecter just said!” Bella reminded them all.

“That must mean,” Price looked around at the party and continued with a dramatic flair, “The calls are coming… from inside the house!”

Everyone fell silent.

After a moment, Zeller retorted, “What, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Price murmured, “Isn’t that creepy?”

“It’s just,” Zeller pointed out, “I mean, that trope was kind of played out in the seventies.”

“What does that matter?” Price blurted.

“It matters!” Zeller insisted.

“I should think the Chesapeake Ripper would choose something less derivative,” said Hannibal.

Jack scowled and rubbed his chin.

“Regardless, there is someone in my house, making violent threats. Seeing as how you’ve all been present during the calls, it must be an uninvited guest.”

They gasped and whispered amongst themselves.

“We have to split up and search the house,” Jack ordered. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Bella gathered up all the flashlights she could find in the home. She dropped the eight in her arms onto the coffee table.

“This woman has a lot of flashlights,” Hannibal considered.

“It’s good to be prepared,” she explained.

The party each took one as Jack gave his commands.

“Jimmy and Zee, go down the hall, Alana and Beverly, take the kitchen, Bella and I will team up, and Dr. Lecter, you go upstairs with Joe Don. Don’t worry, doctor… this man was my partner for ten years. You’re in good hands.”

Hannibal nodded in gratitude.

“What about me?” Will asked.

“I guess you’re on a team by yourself,” Jack responded. “You search the basement. It’s unfinished, so there are some leaks and exposed wires. Also there are plenty of places where someone might hide. Be thorough.”

“Uhh…” Will stammered, but the teams flicked on their lights and went their separate ways.

 

Zeller and Price entered the guest bedroom and began to search around. Price opened the closet and shifted the clothes around while Zeller dropped down and looked under the bed.

On the other side of the room sat a wooden chair. In the middle, a transparent glass unicorn figurine reared its majestic head. Its horn gleamed, the tip of it as sharp as a saber.

In the kitchen, Beverly and Alana shone their flashlights at various implements: a magnetic strip of knives, a meat thermometer, a block of more knives, a switch for the garbage disposal, the knife that was just sitting on the bar.

“Everything’s spookier in a dark room,” Alana whispered.

“And more dramatic,” Beverly agreed.

The two of them made their way to the walk-in pantry. They stepped inside the small space and the door creaked shut. They stared at each other for a moment, heaving bosoms pressed against each other.

Beverly chuckled.

“Well this was silly,” she said.

“Yeah,” Alana giggled.

They locked eyes.

Suddenly Alana leaned forward and planted a kiss right on Beverly’s lips. They both dropped their flashlights and wrapped their arms around each other, knocking cans and boxes off of the pantry shelves as they kissed.

In the guest room, the unicorn continued to gleam and be sharp. _Clang_ , went the pipes.

 

Will Graham descended the creaking stairs into the basement. His flashlight darted around in front of him, and he sputtered when a cobweb brushed across his face.

He stopped at the bottom and mopped his sweaty forehead with both hands. They pushed back into his dark curls, his long eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. He was a vision. When he trembled, the angels gasped and threw down their harps in revelation that they could no longer sing of the beauty of heaven.

His cerulean orbs opened once more when he heard a soft whistling sigh. The ground window was open and the snow drifted in onto the gravelly floor.

“Must be how the caller entered,” he concluded, and went to close it. As he pushed down the frame and locked it, he noticed something moving out of the corner of his eye.

A ratty old rocking chair to his right was moving from the last gust of wind that entered through the window. He turned to face it. His eyes adjusted to the shadowy silhouette for a moment and he raised his flashlight to see what it was in the chair.

Propped up on the seat was an antique porcelain doll. Its skin was pallid and unnatural and its eyes were unfocused and filmy as the dead.

“Nope,” Will said shortly, and turned away from the doll. He thought he heard a noise again, and turned back.

The doll stared blankly.

Will returned the stare.

The doll didn’t blink.

Will didn’t blink.

“Nope,” he decided again and ventured to the other corner of the room.

He searched around shelves of tools and home improvement supplies. The pipes clamored directly in his ear and he winced. The basement smelled damp and every corner ostensibly sheltered maddening monstrosities. It reminded him of his own deeply repressed id. Finally, his nerves got the better of him and he quickly scampered up the stairs.

When he closed the basement door behind him, he leaned his body against it and exhaled. His chest moved with each shuddering breath. He tossed his head like a lover in the throes of passion. His throat and face glistened with sweat. The dampness soaked his collar and down his shirt.

“I am too sweaty,” Will noticed. “I need a shower before I embarrass myself with how sweaty I am.”

He locked the door and slowly moved down the hall to the bathroom.

 

“So, do you think the caller is the Chesapeake Ripper?” Price asked, shuffling through the dresser drawers. He’d lost interest in searching for a person and had resorted to just plain snooping.

“Who knows?” Zeller answered. “Maybe.”

He wandered over to the wooden chair and slumped down to the seat.

“Ouch!” he yelped, and jumped up.

“What happened?” Price asked, turning toward him.

“I sat on something.”

Zeller leaned over and picked up the glass unicorn.

“It was this horse thingy,” he said.

“Weird,” Price said.

“Yeah, it almost went right up my ass.”

“You mean your boy pussy?” Price smirked.

“Don’t…” Zeller responded, “Don’t use that phrase… ever again.”

Zeller placed the figurine on the window sill.

“Did it hurt?” Price asked.

“Not really,” Zeller told him. “It was mostly just… kind of startling, I guess?”

Price sniffed and closed the drawer.

“You know,” he mused. “I hope I don’t seem flippant, but this whole mystery is kind of fun.”

Zeller approached him, lowering his flashlight.

“It is,” he said. “We don’t get out in the field very often. It’s exciting.”

Price moved closer.

“Very exciting.”

They gazed at each other for a lingering moment before finally pressing into each other and kissing passionately. They stumbled for the bed and fell down on it, grasping at each other in the dark.

 

“There’s a trap-door to the attic in this hallway,” Joe pointed out to Hannibal as they made their way down the corridor. He shone his flashlight at the ceiling.

Hannibal walked into the beam of light and pulled down the cord to the door. A wooden ladder rolled out.

“After you,” Joe smirked.

Hannibal nodded and proceeded up the ladder. He stuck his head into the stuffy room and shone his light at his surroundings. A few boxes and some covered furniture cluttered the space. He climbed up and spied a large metal hook descending from a pulley attached to a beam.

“This is handy,” he wondered aloud.

“What?” Joe called from below.

“Join me,” Hannibal called back, “It’s clear, but I want to show you something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hannibal replied, pulling the heavy hook back toward the wall and waiting.

Joe’s head popped into view and he looked in Hannibal’s direction. He squinted for a moment and saw what the man was holding.

“What you got there?” he asked.

Hannibal grinned and released the hook. It swung hard through the air with a whoosh and smashed into Joe’s face, skewering him through the mouth.

Joe gurgled, his blood pouring out onto his sweater.

Hannibal pulled on the rope and hoisted Joe upward, hanging him by his open maw. He fastened the end and watched, entertained, as Joe shuddered.

“Be patient and calm,” Hannibal whispered to the dying man, “for no one can catch fish in anger.”

Then he glanced over the room until he found a bit of rope and an old duster. He strolled back to the body and plucked out a few of the duster’s feathers.

 

In the master bedroom, Jack and Bella checked their surroundings.

“I’ll be damned if I let the Ripper get one up on me again,” Jack growled.

“He’s here somewhere,” Bella assured him. “We’ll find him.”

Jack nodded and observed the snow piling high outside of the window.

“So,” Bella interrupted his pondering. She sat on the bed with a bounce. “You wanna make out?”

Jack grinned at her and shut the door.

 

Meanwhile, Will staggered into the bathroom and began to peel off his clothing. His frame stretched and curved with his movements. He paused to stare at himself in the mirror. In his eyes a naïve focus, but within him, a terrifying maelstrom of grappling demons and angels.

“No one understands me,” he muttered at his reflection.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Lecter’s scream rang out in the house. Price and Zeller sat up suddenly, Beverly and Alana spilled out of the pantry, their lipstick smeared on each other’s faces. Bella turned her head from her husband’s kisses.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Jack answered, nibbling her earlobe. Bella cooed.

“Should we check on it?”

“Graham will do it,” he insisted, and they resumed.

Price, Zeller, Alana, and Beverly dashed into the hallway, where Hannibal was propped against the wall, shaking.

“What’s going on?” Alana asked.

Hannibal pointed a trembling finger upward, at the door in the ceiling. Zeller climbed the ladder into the attic. When he had ascended into the room, he released an anguished cry. The other three hurried after him.

Joe was hanging by a hook; his feet tied together, his arms fastened into fin-like appendages, and feathers adorning the line above his open mouth.

“Oh god,” Price sobbed, “They killed Joe!”

“No!” Zeller wailed. “Not Joe!”

He dropped to his knees, clutching Joe’s desecrated remains.

“Why?!” he screamed upward, “Why couldn’t you have taken me, you bastard?!”

 

Will groaned under the warm cascade of the shower.

“Oh that is so much better.”

He rinsed away the sweat from his baby smooth skin and let the shower rain down on his face. He lathered up the soap in the shower caddy and worked it over his abdomen and chest, between his legs, and over his peach-like bottom.

On the other side of the foggy glass, a shadowy figure loomed in the room.

Will threw his head back and caressed himself with sudsy fingers.

The shadow drew closer.

Suddenly, a hand reached out and banged loudly on the glass door. Will nearly slipped in the shower when he reared back.

“What are you doing?” Zeller’s voice called.

Will leaned out the shower door and grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around his waist and stepped onto the mat. Beverly, Alana, and Hannibal were all gathered and gaping at him.

“I’m taking a shower,” Will explained.

“Why?” Beverly asked.

“I was sweaty.”

“There’s a killer in the house,” Alana clarified slowly, “and you’re stopping to shower?”

“A killer?” Will asked, acutely aware of his nudity.

“Joe Don is dead,” Hannibal told him somberly. “We split up, to cover more ground, and when I found him again, he was killed and transformed into a poetic tableau.”

Zeller sniffed and wiped his eyes. Price reached out and held the man’s head against his chest.

“I’ll just get dressed,” Will told them. He moved for his clothes and then looked up to see everyone still standing around with their eyes trained on him.

“Can I have some privacy?”

The guests shuffled a bit and very reluctantly left him to his business.

Jack wasn’t pleased by the interruption at his bedroom door.

“Someone better be dead out there!” he hollered.

“Yeah,” Price cringed, “About that…”

 

The party convened again in the attic. Jack glowered at the hanging corpse of his friend.

“It’s him,” he growled. “It’s the Ripper.”

The image of Joe Don strung up like his favorite hobby caused the blood to rush out of Will Graham’s face. He put his hands on his knees; breathless, shaking, sickened, adorable.

“I think you’re right, Jack,” he concurred.

“Do you think you can see right now?” the man asked.

“I can see,” Will answered, “Even though it hurts me to see.”

“But when you see you can tell others what you have seen and they will see too.”

“No one can see like I see. It’s the burden of seeing.”

“Oh just do the thing,” Zeller blurted.

Will shook and stood up, whipping his glasses away from his face. He could see better without them, but only figuratively, not literally.

“Everyone out!” Jack instructed. “Will has to do the thing.”

The party descended the ladder one by one.

“Dr. Lecter,” Jack told him, “You stay and observe.”

Will pondered over the tableau for a moment before closing his eyes and inhaling. In his mind, a pendulum swept across a black void.

He found himself standing on the bank of a riverbed. In front of him a dark figure stood, half-submerged in glassy water. The entity’s head was adorned with huge black antlers. Its face and body were that as a man, entirely the color of coal. Its eyes were empty and reflected nothing. He appeared as a Wendigo from native legend. As Will approached, he saw that it was holding a fishing pole in front of it.

The Wendigo turned its head toward Will and gave him a friendly wave.

“Fine day for it!” the beast remarked.

Will’s eyes widened and he awoke from the vision. He shuddered and rubbed his face with both hands.

“What did you see, Will?” Jack asked.

“Pure evil,” Will whispered.

Jack stepped away and climbed down the ladder.

Hannibal cocked his head and examined the young man.

“I am sure the fishing metaphor is not lost on you,” he pointed out.

“We are all fish in a barrel, waiting to be hooked,” Will muttered.

“We swim around in circles, against each other, sharing the same prison, watching our kin be plucked away.” Hannibal drew close and murmured, “Tell me, Will, when the barrel closes in on you, will you dive below the others, or will you willingly take the bait?”

Will regarded Hannibal for a moment and then said, “What?”

Jack called out from down below, “I think it would be safer if we stick together from now on!”

The two joined the others and they all moved along the hall toward the living room, jostling and stepping on each other’s toes.

When they managed to gather in the large room, they huddled together to discuss their options. Will stayed back. He felt a strange tug in one direction. Turning, he saw standing in the shadowy opening to the first floor hallway, a black-feathered stag.

The stag huffed at him and lowered his head, bobbing it, before turning and walking down the hallway. As if in a trance, Will followed silently until the stag reached the door to the basement. It snuffled and nudged the door knob with its nose.

Will opened the door for the creature, but it just bowed its head and clopped past him into the shadows.

_Why won’t he venture forward?_ Will thought, and then he realized, _Oh, I’ll bet it’s because stags can’t go down stairs. Or is that cows? Can stags go down stairs?_

Will shook his head forcefully.

_Get it together, Graham_ , he thought, carefully descending into the basement once more as he pulled out his gun and braced it in front of himself with both hands. _You can Google it later._

When he reached the gritty concrete floor, he heard a faint sniveling sound. He whirled in its direction, but all he saw was a tall stack of boxes. He shone his light at it, and he could see it breaking through the cracks between them to an open area inside.

Carefully, he approached the stack and pushed one to the side. Amidst them crouched a man holding a fireplace poker. He had made himself a little box fort.

“Which one are you?” the man asked.

“I’m Will Graham. You wanted to speak to me?”

“I heard about you,” he said. “They say you’re crazy. You killed that cop, didn’t you?”

Will blinked.

“Like, metaphorically?”

“You’re sick,” the man retorted. “I mean, I’m pretty crazy. I stalk and call people for a rush, but you are a monster.”

Will’s eyes widened.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered.

“How many more people have you killed? Are you going to kill me, now?

“No, I’m not a killer!” Will exclaimed. “I just have crazy visions where I think I’m a killer and I…”

He gestured the motions of stabbing.

“I’m mutilating people and I enjoy it but also it tears me up inside and my nightmares are bleeding into waking dreams and sometimes I think I’m gutting a fish but then I realize it’s a young girl’s face and I think who am I my mind is fracturing and all I see are the bloody entrails of my victims and all I hear are their anguished screams…”

“Oh, fuck this,” the caller groaned and jumped to his feet, lunging toward Will with the poker.

The profiler squeezed the trigger, the pummeling of shots knocking the caller back, slamming him against the boxes, and toppling them over. He pulled the trigger again. Then he squeezed out eight or so more shots. Finally, he retrieved another clip, loaded it, and shot him again.

Will slumped against the wall, shivering. The streetlights outside filtered through the windows and over his face just right. Were he to have lived amongst the baroque masters, Caravaggio, being deprived of paint, would plunge his teeth into his wrist for blood with which to immortalize that visage.

The rest of the party, having heard the commotion, stumbled down the stairs and into the basement. They slowed as they surrounded the body lying on the unfinished floor.

“You killed him,” Jack breathed in astonishment. “You killed the Ripper.”

“It feels a bit anti-climactic,” Will admitted.

“Either way, it’s over,” Jack continued. “The Chesapeake Ripper is finally dead.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Price said.

 

In the clear light of the morning, when the blizzard was over and the roads were cleared, the authorities carried out the bodies from the Crawford residents and the guests returned to their own homes to enjoy Christmas Eve.

Will trudged into his house and threw himself onto the pile of blankets and dogs that he called a bed. He was just about to fade out when his land-line rang.

“Why…” he moaned, and painstakingly urged himself out of bed.

He answered the call with an undignified, “Hello?”

The sound of heavy breathing raised the hair on his arms and back of his neck.

“It’s you,” he choked.

“Will?” a familiar, vaguely European voice responded.

Will sighed and threw his head back.

“Dr. Lecter. I thought for a moment you were the Chesapeake Ripper, and that he wasn’t really dead or we had the wrong guy. You know, like in the movies.”

Hannibal chuckled.

“That would make a better climax, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ve heard enough phone calls from the Ripper to last me an eternity.”

“He was vulgar,” Hannibal agreed. “The way he spoke to you was so base, so lacking in finesse. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed in him.”

“You were expecting someone more refined?”

“I know that if I wanted to convey eroticism to someone with such rare beauty, I would not scrounge in filth.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t?”

Will lounged on the bed once more, cheeky grin dimpling his face.

“I would pen a sonnet, I would compose a ballad, I would bring down the spiteful jealousy of the gods with the heretical praise I would heap on that someone.”

“You know,” Will purred, “A little vulgarity here and there isn’t such a terrible thing.”

“I’ll be right over,” Hannibal replied, and the line clicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. Merry Christmas to all the good little Fannibals! May your stockings be filled with people-free sweets!


End file.
